


This Much I Know.

by Sweetpeaasylum



Category: Crimson Peak (2015), Crimson Peak (2015) RPF
Genre: Coersion, F/M, Gen, Ghosts, Horror, M/M, Not really romantic but maybe in future chapters?, Possession, Potential violence, haven't decided yet, lucille is fucking crazy, not quite consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5385671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweetpeaasylum/pseuds/Sweetpeaasylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one thing the cast and crew of Crimson Peak weren't told - until it was too late - was that the events described in the script, the story they were telling, was all real. It had all happened a hundred years before. The ghosts, they are soon to find out, were all too real, and they weren't going to remain quiet for long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> I hope to be posting at least weekly - I've written a bit ahead, but since I'm going onto winter break in a week, I should have lots of time to write!

“Beware of Crimson Peak…”  
The words in the script were darkly intriguing, but what the finalized cast didn’t know was that there was good reason why one shouldn’t set foot upon the grounds of Allerdale Hall. The manor itself seemed to be restless from all the horrors it had been a silent witness to, standing cold and alone within the barren field, save for the ancient looking clay harvesting machine, and moaning with each passing gust of wind.  
Guillermo del Toro was wise enough to know that the Sharpes of his script were not simply fictional characters, not just a legend that had long since faded from memory. They were all too real and after one visit to Allerdale, he knew he would have to be the one to tell their story. He was tempted to film elsewhere, in fear of having difficulty with the potential of ghosts and the dangers that all old houses had, but ultimately decided that he would have to film there for authenticity. What would be more realistic than filming within the presence of ghosts? Perhaps they could be at peace if someone were to tell their story.  
“Ghosts are real. This much I know.”


	2. Chapter One: Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: The cast and crew are informed of the ghost situation. Tom Hiddleston gets stuck and receives an unexpected introduction to someone long since dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist posting the next chapter ;3 Chapter two should be up by the end of next week. Probably around Monday.

“There is something I must tell you all before we get into this,” the director stated, stopping the group of cast and crew at the front steps of the manor, looking them over very seriously, with no hint of teasing in his voice. “The story that I have written - the script that you have all read - all of it, is very real. The Sharpes were real people who lived in this very house.” Guillermo paused, glancing between Tom Hiddleston and Jessica Chastain, who stood at the front of the group with Mia Wasikowska just behind them, receiving looks of mixed emotion - disbelief, excitement, fear. “I chose to film here despite the risks because what better place to film a story about ghosts than in the very house where it had all taken place? Be careful of where you step, but I have had a small construction crew do a bit of cleaning and repairs for safety reasons, but everything except the repairs is all original.”

One of the camera men glanced around at the group and laughed, “You can’t be serious. What do you mean to say, that this place is haunted or something?”

“Yes,” Guillermo responded pointedly, not wasting any time, “This place is haunted, according to anyone who has tried to stay here for any extended period of time. I understand that you all have your doubts, but believe what you will. What matters now is that we tell their story, whether or not you believe it to be true.”

Jessica looked to Tom hesitantly, arching a brow as if asking What do you think?

Tom simply gave a little shrug before turning his attention to examining the exterior of Allerdale Hall, the vivid red clay beneath their feet, the ornate front doors. Off to the side of the path to the right stood the rusted remains of the clay harvesting machine, partially sunken into the ground, and off behind them to the left were the remnants of an old wooden playground, most of which had fallen to bits. The actor didn’t entirely believe in ghosts, but he was open to the idea that they existed. It seemed a little far-fetched that this specific story was true. Nothing is impossible, he thought to himself as Guillermo lead the way into the almost ancient-looking manor to begin their tour of the grounds. It was important, after all, that no one got lost or anything.

“...As you know, our trailers are off set to the west and the restrooms are also there though…”

Tom couldn’t help but somewhat zone out for most of the tour, paying attention to the historical aspects, but his mind was focused upon wondering if it was true that this place was actually haunted. He wanted to be less jumpy, but with every strange noise or whooshing gust of wind from the east came through, his agitation grew and his eyes watered slightly. But he brushed it away before anyone could notice.

As they reached the locked door to what Guillermo explained had been Thomas’ workshop, the east wind groaned through the house, sending what little ash remained in the fireplaces scattering across the floors. When the wind died down once more, and the director was explaining that, “...No one knows what Sir Thomas’ workshop contains, as no one has ever seen the inside of it since the incident,” there was a resounding click of a lock being turned, interrupting his explanation. Tom was the closest to the door and jumped back, feeling as though he’d momentarily jumped out of his skin, yelping when it creaked open a few inches, letting out a cloud of dust.

Everyone went silent for a long moment, before one of the camera crew laughed. Most of them assumed that it was just a trick that had been planned to add a creepiness factor, but when the director looked just as frightened as the rest of them were feeling, the silence fell harshly once more. Tom blinked rapidly to clear his vision, his body tensed to run, but when nothing more happened, he tried to let himself relax some.

Finally, moments later, Guillermo spoke, “Well… I guess we’ll be the first ones invited in to see what’s inside.” He paused, glancing awkwardly in Tom’s direction, “Tom, what do you say to being the first one inside of Sir Thomas’ workroom? You are going to be the one playing him after all,” the implied so it makes sense was emphasized with a shrug.

Being put on the spot like this sent Tom’s anxiety skyrocketing and it almost got the better of him, but with everyone staring at him, he couldn’t help but feel like he had no choice. He swallowed hard before giving a little nod, “I guess it makes sense… Wish me luck,” he added weakly. There was a part of him that was excited by the thought that he could’ve been the first one in this room for the better part of a hundred years, but the other part of him wanted to run the other way. After all, if no one has been in here for a hundred years, how could he know that the floor wouldn’t fall through or something?

He carefully stepped over the threshold into the dark room, his footprints the only ones visible in the thin layer of dust coating everything. The actor strode lightly into the workshop, each soft creak of the floor making him start a little, but he made it to the back of the long, dark room a few moments later. Every possible surface was covered in old toys, trinkets, and odds and ends that could’ve only been made by hand. There were also stacks of handwritten notebooks laying about on random corners of counters and tables, “This is… this is fantastic,” he breathed.

Just as he was beginning to feel more comfortable with the room and turned to head back to the group, the heavy door slammed shut and the lock clicked back into place. The actor was so startled that he almost fell back and ended up lurching into a table, knocking a stack of notebooks to the floor with a puff of dust. The fact that the others were panicking on the other side of the door only served to make his anxiety worse, “Fuck… What’s going on? Can you get it open?” He rushed towards the door, trying the knob a few times as he tried to stay in control of his breathing. When the knob didn’t turn and the door refused to budge, he gave a frustrated sound and wiped at his eyes, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered.

“Tom, are you alright,” a woman - sounded like Jessica - called through the door.

“I’m-I’m fine. I’m fine… It’s just really dark in here, but I-I’ve got my mobile. Do you think you’ll be able to get me out of here anytime soon?” There was a pleading tone in his voice that he couldn’t quite cover up, but at least he managed to speak. That was something.

There was a silence that answered his question before Guillermo actually said anything a few seconds later, “No, Tom… I’ll have to call someone… but we’ll try to find a key or something while we wait. We’ll get you out of there. Just let us know if you need anything. We’ll be right here.”

The worry in his voice was evident enough, but Tom swallowed, licking his lips and trying to keep calm. “I’ll be fine… just please hurry. I’ll look around in here for a key, maybe there was a spare…” He was trying to keep his anxiety in check, giving himself the hope that he could possibly get himself out, and he leaned his back against the door, taking a few deep breaths before sliding his phone out of his pocket and turning the flashlight app on to look around. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it seemed in the darkness, though it was still eerie in the bright, white light his phone cast.

He took a few more deep breaths, thinking of the good things about this:

  1. I am the first one to see any of this for over a hundred years.

  2. I have light.

  3. There are interesting things to look at if I am stuck here for a while.

  4. I could potentially find a key somewhere in here.

  5. ~~I am safe by myself.~~




As he thought the last point on that list, that he was alone, he realised suddenly that he was very much not alone. He nearly dropped his phone in shock when he suddenly saw a man standing not a few yards from him on the other side of the room by the workbench. Tom was about to call out for help, or at least in shock, but his voice caught in his throat as he tried to mentally process what he was seeing through slightly teary eyes, which he wiped with one of his sleeves. The man was hovering there, a few inches above the ground and he was staring directly back at the actor, a small stream of red streaming from dark lines on his cheek and chest - was that blood? And strangest of all, the man was translucent, the lines of the workbench, chair, and wall only just showing through his ethereal, white form in the light.

“Help me,” the man whispered, “Please.”

Tom could barely hear the voice over the muffled noises from outside, where everyone was currently discussing how and if they should attempt to get Tom out themselves. “What-what do you want?” Stupid question. He felt his eyes watering even more as he watched the other, his breath hitching as he tried (unsuccessfully) to keep calm.

The man advanced upon him, drifting through the table in the middle of the room as Tom pressed himself back against the door, his eyes going wide. A hand reached out to steady him, grasping his shoulder in an oddly solid grip for someone who had just floated through a table. The chill from the man’s hand that seeped through Tom’s sweater had him shivering in seconds, but the man took his hand away, seeing that it was making Tom uncomfortable, “Are you…”

“Sir Thomas Sharpe,” came the whispered response, “Please… help me.”

Tom was struck speechless, standing there against the door agape as a small tear rolled down his cheek from the corner of his eye. Finally he managed to respond, his voice wavering, “Wh-what do you want… What do you need help with? Why me?”

“You will understand. You are the only one who would understand.” The ghost slowly floated closer, until they were just inches away from each other, hesitated a second, before finally passing through Tom and sending a chill through him, the likes of which he’d never felt before.

**The actor gasped for breath as his body went rigid and his heart stuttered, but moments later, the room began spinning and black spots started appearing in his vision. He couldn’t break his fall as his body collapsed to the floor with a resounding thud and within a few seconds, he fell unconscious, as he began to feel an odd numbness spreading through him.**


	3. Chapter Two: Visions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom, for an unknown reason, receives visions of Sir Thomas' life, seeing glimpses of the past as only a bystander while he is unconscious.

At first, there was nothing.

It was like sleep, only not… like his whole body had gone fuzzy and lost circulation or something.

Tom knew he wasn’t awake, but he didn’t feel like he could possibly be dreaming this up either.

Then, it was as though he was being pulled from underwater after drowning, gasping, his lungs burning for breath. No matter how much he breathed the sensation didn’t fade; it was like a vice tightening around his chest, keeping him subdued. But then, everything slowly came into focus, the dark greyish surroundings becoming shapes, which then became objects. As he came to in his new surroundings - which appeared to be the attic nursery, completely refurbished and looking as though it were brand new - the burning in his lungs subsided, but didn’t disappear completely.

“Thomas,” an unfamiliar voice called, “Thomas, where are you?”

“The actor didn’t respond, unsure of what was going on. The cast and crew of the movie just called him Tom, so why would anyone bother calling him Thomas? The door behind him swung open and he spun around on his heels, the motion sending him reeling, the room spinning for a moment, before he finally focused upon what he was looking at. It was an older woman, who wore an ornate, black dress with a white lace collar and trim, her steely grey hair in a severe bun atop her head and her scrutinizing, black eyes set upon the room while she tapped the end of her cane on the floor with her steps. The resounding taps of the cane hitting the wood floor, for whatever reason, sent shivers down Tom’s spine as she advanced, slowly shuffling into the room. It wasn’t until then that he noticed a small, black haired boy with bright blue eyes cowering behind the door, his bony fingers clutching his knees, which were hugged to his chest. The panic in his eyes was evident as he stared at the back of the door, the woman not quite in his view yet. One hand darted up to his mouth, as though to muffle his own breathing and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Thomas, you cannot hide forever; I know what you’ve done to your sister.” The old woman looked straight through Tom, her keen eyes scanning every nook and every possible place to hide that she could see from her place near the front of the vast, but mostly empty room.

Even the actor felt a sharp pang of fear run through him every time she gazed in his general direction, though she didn’t even seem to notice him. But the more he examined her, the more he began to realise that he did know this woman from somewhere. She was the woman in the enormous painting downstairs in the great hall. The woman Guillermo had described as being the Sharpe siblings’ mother, who had apparently been a terrible person, doing purposeful harm to her children, among other things. Though she was no worse than the Sharpe siblings’ father, she had done things that were equally awful to what he had inflicted upon the children. Eventually, he died mysteriously, but Beatrice died rather horrifically with a meat cleaver splitting her skull nearly in two, which supposedly had been Lucille’s doing.

Before anything more could happen, the nursery and Beatrice Sharpe began to blur, her face becoming more and more indistinct as the tight, burning vice returned full force in Tom’s lungs, but oddly enough, the boy’s face - Thomas Sharpe, he assumed - didn’t lose focus, in fact, it was the only thing remained when everything went black temporarily around him and Tom was left hovering in the middle of nothing. He couldn’t help but stare at the boy, who was now sobbing, burying his face between his knees.

“T-Thomas,” the actor called, his voice coming out in a whisper that seemed to echo around them. But when Thomas looked up at him, his head snapping up with keen eyes that were laced with fear and disbelief, their surroundings suddenly changed, another room coming into focus and the pain in Tom’s chest eased little by little. This time, he and Thomas were whisked away to another room, one with a high, arched ceiling - presumably the top floor of one of the parts of the house Tom and the crew hadn’t been taken to, either the East or West wing, he could only assume (both of which were in a state of disrepair that stemmed from disuse before the Sharpes had died).

“Thomas, please,” a hushed voice whispered.

The sounds were coming from behind a large wardrobe on the other side of the room. Tom could also hear muffled breathing coming between the rustling of fabric and whispered words of encouragement with the occasional moan. Tom broke eye contact with the boy to further investigate the sounds, but when he glanced back, little Thomas was gone, leaving him alone with the soft sounds of foreplay and kissing. He remained absolutely still, closing his eyes then, feeling as though he was witnessing something he really shouldn’t have been.

He didn’t want to think about what this implied about Thomas and Lucille’s relationship - even though he’d already known from the script - and though it was  relatively quiet in the room, the actor didn’t hear the door opening behind him and didn’t notice that anyone else was in the room until Beatrice Sharpe limped past him, her cane, which was held at an angle in one hand, passing through Tom with an odd, tingling sensation. He gasped softly when he saw her, reaching out a hand, as though he could stop her, but he couldn’t find the words to warn them and his hand only passed through her shoulder, unnoticed completely. “Thomas,” the old woman shrieked as she discovered the siblings, who were nestled together on the floor, Thomas with his hips between his sister’s knees and Lucille pressed against the rumpled fabric of her dress, which pooled up around her waist, and leaning against the wall behind her. “What in the devil do you think you’re doing to your sister?”

A soft yelp of surprise followed her words as she brought down her cane sharply, the crack of the wood hitting flesh sending a jolt through Tom. Moments later, Beatrice was grasping Thomas’ hair and dragging him up from behind the wardrobe, his clothes hanging limply off of him as his trousers fell down to his ankles.

“Mother, no,” Lucille cried as she stumbled, tripping over her dress to stand up. Tom could see her then, her face peeking out from behind the wardrobe with pink cheeks and a pinched look of terror. “Please, we were just-” she stopped, her words becoming inarticulate cries as their mother began beating Thomas with her cane, bruises blooming almost instantly under the brutal force. He sobbed, crying out with every thwack of the wood as it met with his skin, the barrage not stopping until he was bruised and bleeding over much of his body and likely had a few fractured or broken bones.

“I always knew you would do something like this - Lucille always protected you. All for what? For love? This love is a sin. Disgusting. Despicable.” She punctuated her words with a few more blows, this time from the handle of the cane, which came cracking down on his shoulder, elbow, back, and then neck.

The actor couldn’t bear to watch anymore and found himself crying, the tears welling up in his eyes before he could do anything to stop them. “Please… stop! He doesn’t deserve this,” he yelled out. No one seemed to notice but Thomas, his eyes becoming round with fear as he seemed to notice Tom, seeing the actor standing there in the centre of the room with his hands covering his mouth and tears streaming down his cheeks. But Thomas didn’t keep his gaze long, for Beatrice’s boot was soon driven harshly into his temple, sending him sprawling across the floor in a heap, left unconscious there while Lucille sobbed, trying to reach down to help him, but she was pulled away roughly, dragged screaming from the room.

The scene then blurred, like all the others had, leaving Tom dizzy this time, but the dead, cold glare in Beatrice’s eyes stayed imprinted upon the actor’s mind, even as the pain in his chest burned molten steel, taking his breath away once again.

The next things Tom saw were only flashes, brief dizzying snapshots that he found himself in the middle of.

The sight of Beatrice lying in the bath with a cleaver lodged in her head, almost splitting it in two while her arms dangled limply over the rim of the cast iron tub and blood dripped lazily into the water through her open eyes and down her cheeks. Some of the crimson threads trailed lines down into her mouth, which was partially open as if she was caught just before she could scream. Lucille was covered in blood, but despite her obvious panic, she looked strangely peaceful as she clutched her brother close, smearing blood over his clothing and skin.

Next was of a dark room with the impression of a large man atop a young boy - presumably Thomas - in a small bed, which Tom got the impression was in some sort of boarding school.

Thomas being brutally beaten by what appeared to be a teacher or priest.

The inside of a blank, dingy, white room with a young woman - Lucille - huddled in a corner dressed in dingy, white scraps, but looking up hopefully at Thomas, who stood in the doorway, a black shape in the sterile world of white beyond.

The design and blueprints of a machine labelled Clay Mining Machine framed by smooth hands, one with a gold wedding band.

Thomas and Lucille kissing, their limbs entwined and bodies pressed inseparably together.

An unfamiliar, older woman - Martha - lying dead and covered in clay. Lucille was also covered in scarlet clay, though her brother’s skin remained clean

Another woman he’d never seen before - Pamela - murdered with Lucille standing overhead and Thomas looking on forlornly.

Enola. Her body wasted away on the floor. Lucille looking on triumphantly, Thomas with tears in his eyes.

Edith. Lucille shrieking, covered in blood and tattered clothing. The ghost of her brother looking on impassively.

It all became too much for Tom and his head began to hurt equally as much as his chest did. But eventually the flood stopped, all of it becoming an indistinct blur, which darkened to blackness once again, leaving Tom alone and completely unconscious once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this one~ It's brief but was fun to write. As usual, any comments/feedback are appreciated! I love hearing from readers and I love hearing suggestions about where the plot should go/any issues you find.  
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter Three: Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom meets the Sharpes officially and they tell him of their great plans for him and Tom starts filming, thinking he's coming down with some sort of illness.

When he came to, the first thing Tom noticed was that there must’ve been a fire behind him to the left, but to his right, the air was absolutely freezing. His right hand had even gone numb, presumably from the cold. The next thing he noticed was that someone was playing the piano nearby… in front of him actually, but oddly enough, it was in tune. Had someone come to tune the piano, or was there another besides the one in the great hall?

“Thomas, he is coming to,” a woman says sweetly, her voice lilting from just to Tom’s right. He blinked, his vision fuzzy and unfocused, but it slowly focused, the keys of the piano coming into full view along with a dark shape beside him, the woman who had spoken earlier. He turned to look at her and the room spun slightly, tilting as he blinked; her fingers, as he glanced past them, appeared skeletal, rotted almost, as they drifted over the keys, but her face was obscured by a dark, lace veil and her head was canted slightly at an unnatural angle, as though her neck was broken.

“Who are you,” Tom breathed, his voice raspy and unable to achieve anything more than a whisper. Now that he thought about it, he felt incredibly weak and his muscles trembled when he tried to move. Had he fainted or something?

The woman stopped playing the piano abruptly, her head turning awkwardly to face him, her face surprisingly beautiful beneath the dark veil, and after a slight hesitation, she smiled and gently brought her fingers, which were indeed skeletal, up to brush along Tom’s cheeks. The chill from the bony fingers was enough to send a violent shiver through Tom and nausea suddenly crept up from his stomach to the back of his throat. He swallowed a few times, but it did nothing to ease the feeling. “My darling, don’t worry yourself on such matters,” she murmured, dragging her fingertips down his neck and stopping at the collar of his sweater before removing her hands from him entirely. The nausea slowly subsided when her touch was gone, but the uneasy feeling that settled in him only grew worse.

“My brother and I have a proposition for you, but perhaps you ought to lie down, you’re looking rather pale and we can’t have you fainting,” the fake kindness in her voice did little to disguise the hard edge in her tone as she gestured to a couch near the fireplace just behind the piano, where a man - the same man who had introduced himself as being ‘Sir Thomas Sharpe’ - hovered, stretched out over the dusty cushions and blankets. Thomas moved to stand then, when the actor turned to look at the couch, drifting through the couch to stand in front of the low fire, the light shining through his body dimly as the blood seeping from his wounds glimmered, congealing and disappearing in the air.

He moved a little closer then, speaking softly as he came to stop at Tom’s side, “My sister and I have come to the conclusion that you are the best option for us.” He was close enough that the actor could feel the cold radiating off of his form and could see the pattern of the blood occluding his left eye, making the iris a mottled violet while the other eye was clear blue. “We can make you help us, as I had today, but I think it would be more beneficial to the three of us if you did this willingly.”

A moment later, a freezing hand rested on Tom’s shoulder from behind, the thin fingers squeezing tightly as the woman pulled the actor off of the piano bench and guided him to sit on the couch silently.

“What is all this and what the hell do you want from me,” Tom demanded, his voice wavering as he stared, much like a deer in headlights between the two ghosts, his eyes burned with tears that had unwillingly began to form at the edges of his eyes. He blinked rapidly to try to clear his vision, but it only served to make one of the droplets roll down his cheek and he quickly brushed it away with the back of his hand, which was covered with dust. What the hell did all of this mean? It had to be some kind of joke or something, right? He was almost waiting for Guillermo or Jessica or someone to come out of the shadows and say that they’d done it only to frighten him. Sure, he wouldn’t be happy about it, but it would probably be a better explanation than ghosts, at least in terms of how safe he was at the moment.

The hand on his shoulder tightened, forcing him to press his back against the back of the couch and the woman leaned in closer, lips parted in a slight sneer, but Tom interrupted before she could speak, “I demand to know what is going on here, please, just tell me what you want.” He tried to sit up, but the woman’s hand held him fast, feeling as though the cold was almost burning him at this point.

“My darling, this would be so much easier if you didn’t ask so many questions. Everything will be explained in due time, trust me.” She gently reached up with her other hand and stroked Tom’s cheek as she gave him a pitying look. “Now, as for who we are, I am Lady Lucille Sharpe, and this is my brother, Sir -”

“Thomas Sharpe, yes… he told me,” Tom whispered, earning an irritated look from Lucille.

“Yes,” she hissed, her lip twitching as she said the word, but she removed her hands from Tom once again, watching intently as he rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly. “We are the only way you will survive this house,” she added lowly, gazing down at him with black eyes. It was only then that Tom noticed the fine, hairline cracks in her skin, almost as though she was a doll that had been dropped or something, and the black lace collar of her dress seemed to almost blend into her skin. And when he turned to look over at Thomas, something glimmering in the firelight caught his eye on the table beside the couch.

A knife. A very rusty one, at that, and it sat just inches away from Thomas’ hand. He didn’t say anything about it, but he couldn’t stop the jolt of terror that ran through him; Tom glanced up frantically at the siblings’ eyes, Lucille’s sharp and cold, while Thomas’ was almost full of pity and something else that Tom couldn’t place. “Oh, don’t worry, my dear little actor,” Lucille crooned, “we won’t be doing anything drastic tonight… We need to make sure you’re truly the right one for this before we do anything permanent.” She drifted away then, the dark shadow of her funeral gown flowing around her like smoke as she moved to sit on the piano bench once more.

“The right one… for what,” Tom whispered, looking between the pair frantically.

“For Thomas,” Lucille replied sweetly, looking up at her brother with adoring eyes, “I will be finding someone for myself as well, but I think you’ll do perfectly… this is all just a precaution.”

At that, Tom couldn’t stop the small sob that choked out from his throat as he bit his lip, worrying the skin harshly between his teeth until he tasted blood. “A p-precaution… for what?”

“So that we know you are perfect.”

Thomas drifted forward then, perching on the arm of the couch and crossing one leg over the other with no fear of tipping over. “I’m sorry, Tom… we have been trapped here for far too long. Now that you are here, perhaps we can finally end this, be free of this place.” As much as he and his sister both loved Allerdale, never leaving for a hundred years was too much for even them.

“What do you mean,” Tom pleaded, “please… tell me.” Tears were running from his eyes freely, “I don’t understand what any of this means.” He started to get up again, but only sat on the edge of the couch, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands, “What happened earlier, when I was in your workroom, Thomas? How do I even know you’re not just some hallucination or dream or something?”

The siblings gave each other a look and Thomas appeared to almost sigh before speaking, “I’m not going to hurt you yet Tom,” the baronet stated flatly.

“Yet,” Tom squeaked, “What do you mean, yet?” A few more tears rolled down his cheeks, but he did nothing to brush them away; it was all too clear that he was terrified at the moment, so there was no point.

Thomas clenched his jaw and glared at the actor, “Don’t concern yourself with such things. If you do not think yourself equal to this task, we will soon find out.” With that, the baronet leaned in to brush his fingertips down Tom’s cheek, meeting his teary gaze levelly, “For now, you will go about your business filming and speak not a word of this. If you do, we will know and there will be consequences,” he added menacingly, though the conviction in his voice wasn’t entirely there, not like his sister, whose eyes bored into Tom’s with a coldness that rivalled their touch.

“Please,” he whispered, “please don’t hurt me.”

“Not yet,” Thomas responded, his voice cracking, and he looked away quickly after speaking, looking to Lucille as though for her approval.

Tom was fully crying by this point, and when he looked to Lucille, she seemed smugly satisfied, watching the exchange with narrowed eyes and a slightly raised chin, much like the cat who got the cream. She gave a nod, an ever so slight tilt of her head, in Thomas’ direction, and when the actor looked to the ghost sitting beside him, he felt a fresh wave of fear upon noticing his closer proximity. “What are you-”

“Hush, you won’t feel a thing,” Thomas murmured before darting through Tom’s body once more before the actor could protest further. The same cold numbness spread through Tom’s body, and before he could do anything about it, he was falling unconscious once again, and the last thing he saw was Lucille standing and drawing nearer with a more than pleased look on her face.

“How perfect, my love,” she breathed, reaching out a hand to ease Tom’s body back into the couch as his vision went black and he went fully unconscious.

})i({

When Tom awoke the next morning, he found himself in his trailer, the alarm on his phone buzzing obnoxiously to tell him it was time for breakfast before hair and makeup. His entire body ached and as he got up and out of bed to get ready, a chill ran through him, making him shiver and clutch his blanket around his shoulders. The events of yesterday after entering Allerdale were all fuzzy, as though he’d been blackout drunk all day (which, he knew he hadn’t been) and he could barely remember even being conscious. But the chill persistently returned as he wolfed down a bowl of dry cereal and a snack bar and returned once again as he put on a jacket to head over to the costume trailer. Thankfully after the filming here, in Allerdale, they’d be going off to film the scenes taking place in America, so it would be a bit easier on all of them. Perhaps it was just this place that was making him feel so strangely.

They’d be filming most of the scenes taking place in Allerdale in order, for the majority of the time, so today they were going to start with Edith’s arrival and go from there - the schedule said they were supposed to get through at least a handful of scenes after that, but depending on how filming was going, that could be completely true or end up having half of it pushed into tomorrow. For whatever reason, Tom just wanted to get this day over with; something just felt so wrong about this place for no apparent reason.

Probably because it was an old, creepy manor with a terrifying history that is apparently entirely true, Tom thought to himself irritably as he started getting ready for filming. The hair and makeup thankfully didn’t take too long, but it was still a little tedious, with his anxiety being so high. Everything felt like it was taking too long and he was jumping at everything, passing it off as just being nervous for the first day of filming. He didn’t feel sick aside from the persistent chill that revisited him on occasion throughout the morning, but that could’ve just been from the brisk weather outside.

As the morning wore on, Tom found himself feeling more and more run down, barely able to keep up with the pace of filming. No one seemed to notice except Guillermo, but he didn’t mention it. But oddly enough, the longer filming went on, the more flashes of strange images, memories, would come flooding into Tom’s head, as though he were living the life of Thomas Sharpe. And it wasn’t until they were filming the scene in Thomas’ workshop, which had willingly opened of its own volition once more when Tom was nearby, that something strange happened.

Tom was smiling warmly at Mia as they prepared to do the scene, discussing quietly how they wanted to go about it, when all of a sudden, Tom fell silent, his expression falling for the briefest of moments and his eyes seemed to cloud over. “Tom… Tom are you alright,” she asked, worried that something was wrong. “I think something is wrong with Tom,” she called to the crew nearby.

But before anyone could come to their aid, Tom blinked a few times, shaking his head and looking around at their surroundings confusedly. “Tom… Are you alright,” Guillermo asked tentatively, watching him with a keen eye. The Tom had been acting strangely all day; something was wrong and he knew it. It was just a matter of finding out what.

“I’m fine… I just - something came over me, I think I might be falling ill,” Tom responded easily, clearing his throat a little before rubbing his eyes. “Would you mind if I excused myself briefly. I believe I need some air, this old house must be getting the better of my dust allergy,” he added sheepishly. But there was a detachment in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, that was never there - it was Tom Hiddleston, after all. Detachment really wasn’t something he was fond of.

He didn’t wait for a response before picking his way out of the room, careful not to touch anyone as he headed out, down the grand staircase and onto the front steps of the house. The actor was pacing across the path with red clay starting to stain his shoes, when Mia found him, “Tom,” she called softly from the door, pulling up the dress a little so that she could step over the threshold without getting caught up. “Are you alright? It seemed like something was wrong… I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t said or done something to upset you,” she didn’t think she had, since Tom probably would’ve told her, but it was probably better to make sure.

When he heard her approach, Tom looked up, giving her a strange look before glancing away for a moment and pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, no… Ed-Mia… I’m sorry. As I said, I think I may be falling ill or something, perhaps it is all the dust inside the house.”

“Well, if that’s all it is,” she paused, offering a little smile and coming down a few of the steps to reach out for his hand, “Next time we go to town, we’ll get you some vitamins and a good, strong drink,” she teased, grinning at him.

The actor looked up at her once again, then at her outstretched hand, as though considering her offer. “I would like that very much,” he replied with a little smile as he reached out to take her hand, stepping up to guide her back into Allerdale.

This isn’t going to be easy, he thought to himself, taking a sidelong glance in Mia’s direction. She didn’t notice, but when he looked up, he found Guillermo watching them from the top of the stairs, watching him with a scrutinous eye despite his smile, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, perfectly fine. Just all the dust or something,” Tom replied brightly, following Mia up the stairs and helping her with her dress.

“Do you think you can finish with the rest of the scenes today, Tom? We’ve got just this one before we break for lunch and then we’ll see about the four afterwards,” the director explained when they reached the top of the stairs.

“I think I can manage. Perhaps eating something after will do me well.”

Guillermo nodded, leading the way back to the workshop, “Good. Let’s get to finishing then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and feedback are more than welcome :3


	5. Chapter Four: Why Not

The rest of the day went smoothly enough, Tom occasionally took breaks to make sure he wasn’t feeling too sick, the others made sure he was alright, and by the end of the night, everyone was exhausted and ready for bed, though Mia, Tom, and a few of the others had made plans to go into town for dinner, rather than just going straight back to their hotel rooms. It was about a half hour’s drive in and in the eerie darkness of the forest around them, everyone was a little on edge, especially with Tom’s odd silence as he drove.

“So, Tom,” Jessica began, glancing up at him from the back seat and meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, “what do you think about tomorrow’s scenes?” The next day, the plan was to film a few daytime scenes, but then do the scenes with Edith’s discoveries about the Sharpes and the poison. It would be a relatively easy day for everyone but Mia, but with Jessica becoming as depressed as she was, she was relying on Tom for support. She was worried about him now, worried that he too might be feeling the strain of the roles they were playing.

Glancing up when he heard Jessica speak, Tom gave an absent shrug, “I think it will be interesting,” he murmured, his tone somewhat flat.

Mia glanced behind her from the front passenger seat to give Jessica a confused look. “It should be fun… playing a poison victim is always a great time,” she added teasingly. Jessica managed a little smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Tom never seemed to act like this and she couldn’t help but wonder if something was seriously wrong; maybe it was something outside of filming, family issues perhaps, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Is everything alright with you, Tom? You’ve been acting strangely today… if the script is bothering you, you know you can come to me. With how many times I’ve come to you, I owe you that much at least,” she reached up and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s a great story, but it can be…  _ trying _ at best to play these characters.”

“Yes, I know the feeling,” Mia agreed, nodding and glancing in Tom’s direction when he remained silent for a long few moments. Though Edith was nowhere near as mentally fucked up as the Sharpes were, it certainly wasn’t easy playing someone who was the victim of all this.

When he finally responded, his voice seemed darker somehow, almost haunted, “It is trying, I suppose. These characters… knowing what was said about them, that they were real… It’s just kind of a shock I guess. I’m sorry if I’m coming off as upset, it’s just that I’ve been feeling strangely since we found out about all that.”

The actresses both hummed understandingly, Jessica adding in an, “It’s okay, we understand… But please don’t hesitate to come to me if you feel like you need someone to talk to. I understand completely how crazy these people were and getting into their heads, knowing that they were real… that hit me hard too. I’d have liked to know sooner, like before we agreed to do this, but I guess I get why Guillermo didn’t want to mention that. Everyone would probably have been scared off if they knew…”

“Yeah…” Tom agreed quietly. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, but he relaxed a few moments later, though his eyes were dark and impassive as he drove down the dark streets to get to town. They were just arriving about ten minutes later and Tom found a parking spot in the car park outside the hotel they were staying at. “Alright… what shall we eat?”

Eventually, after some deliberation, they decided on a pub down the street, figuring that after the events of the day, they deserved the chance to get drunk. It wasn’t until hours later that they all left, sated, stumbling, and giggling. Tom was back to being his usual self and Jessica finally wasn’t feeling as badly as she had been earlier. Mia, well, she was her normal, bubbly self amplified by about twenty and was leaning against Tom, one arm around his waist, and laughing at the way they were stumbling and telling Tom and Jessica how cute they both were.

The three made it safely back to the hotel, accompanied by a few of the other crew members who were all varying degrees of drunk. The night was nothing short of much needed and though Tom was still acting a little strangely, Jessica and Mia were less concerned for him, now that he seemed to be acting happier and more laid back. Perhaps they should make this a nightly ritual before bed - go out, get a little drunk, and have a good time. In light of what was going on, it was much needed, as was the deep sleep they all got that night.

They were all a little hungover in the morning when their alarms went off at five for the drive back to the set, but they recovered relatively easily with the help of aspirin and tea on the drive back. They didn’t talk much on the way back in, Jessica and Mia doing most of the talking with each other while Tom remained relatively silent, his skin pale and the dark circles under his eyes suggested that he didn’t get much sleep. He barely noticed when they arrived, looking around confusedly as the car was parked and the other two got out. He remained in the car, looking around at the surroundings blearily, starting when Jessica gently tapped on the window, giving him a concerned look.

He rolled down the window, but before he could speak, she gently reached in and took his shoulder, “I’m really worried about you, Tom, is everything alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Tom searched for the words to explain how he was feeling, but he couldn’t find them, “I-I don’t know,” he admitted, closing his eyes and rubbing at them with one hand, “I don’t remember anything of what happened since yesterday afternoon… I remember bits and pieces, but it was like I was dreaming or something. I remember being at the pub… a little before that while we were filming, but,” he trailed off, shaking his head. What was wrong with him?

Jessica frowned, clearly concerned for his wellbeing, “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go get Guillermo. You don’t look so good, so maybe you should sit this one out today. I’m sure we can find something else to do for the scenes you were in today, you look like you could use some rest.”

“Maybe after I eat something I’ll feel better, but I’ll meet you in the trailer in a few minutes,” he replied.

“No,” she said insistently, giving him a  _ look _ . “You’re going to wait here and relax, maybe put the seat back, and I’m going to get Guillermo and you two can talk it out… Stay,” she said pointedly, offering a little smile before heading for the trailers so that she could call Guillermo to go talk to Tom.

As the actor waited silently, he could really notice how oddly he felt, now that he was alone. His body felt like he was floating or something, like he was half gone. His heart rate was slower than usual and he didn’t quite feel  _ sick _ , but he didn’t feel well either, like something was sapping his energy after an already long day. He closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to relax, but something shifted in the car, the air suddenly becoming colder.

When he opened his eyes, he jumped, gasping, but before he could say anything, the ghostly woman pressed a finger to his lips, which seemed to take his breath away. “My dear Thomas,” she murmured, pushing up the veil covering her face and leaning forward to press a freezing kiss to his forehead. “You’re perfect. We’ll make this right soon enough. You don’t have much longer in this body anyways, he grows weaker by the day. Perhaps you should give him a rest,” she gave a soft chuckle and reached through Tom’s hand, but it felt as though she was holding it. Lucille gave a gentle pull and another ghostly hand followed hers out of Tom’s arm. After a few seconds, the rest of another ghostly body seemed to detach itself from the actor’s body, slowly pulling out from beneath his skin and paralyzing him as tears began streaming from the corners of his eyes. He gasped for breath, feeling as though he couldn’t fill his lungs, until Thomas Sharpe was hovering in the front driver’s seat of the car beside Tom.

“He didn’t even put up a fight,” the baronet murmured pleasantly, as though it was nothing to him. He had, of course tried to possess other bodies before, but they all died within a day or two, but Tom seemed to be holding up rather well, all things considered. He even carried Thomas out beyond the walls of Allerdale, which was something that hadn’t happened in over a hundred years. “I think he will do quite well.”

“What do you mean,” Tom demanded weakly, still trying to catch his breath, but a sudden chill had come over him, as though he was being frozen from the inside out and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering. “Why me?”

Lucille broke her affectionate gaze with Thomas to glare at the actor, “We’ve already explained this to you, or have you forgotten already? Why not you? Not to mention, you look so much like my brother.” She paused, looking out the windshield to see a man coming towards the car, “No questions and you are not to tell anyone or else we will make this much worse for you than it already is.” With that, the siblings disappeared into a soft white and black mist that dissipated from the car within seconds, just soon enough that Guillermo didn’t see anything when he arrived to speak with Tom.

“Jessica told me that she didn’t think you were well enough to film today - if you aren’t feeling well, Tom, we can always film your scenes another day, but I’m worried about you. You’ve been acting oddly and everyone’s noticing.” The director paused, resting his forearms on the open car window to peer in at the actor, “Is everything alright, Tom? I'm sorry to say it, but you look awful today; maybe we should get you back to the hotel to rest for the day.”

Tom was about to protest when Guillermo stepped away a bit, “Come on, out. I’ll have someone drive you back. I don’t think you can drive in this condition.” He had suspicions that something was seriously wrong; he knew there were, indeed ghosts in Allerdale, but since there hadn’t been any reported sightings from the cast or crew, he didn’t worry too much, but from what he knew of them, they could make the living very sick. Especially when it came to possession. If that was the case, he knew they probably didn’t have much time. Perhaps he would do some research later on to see what they were dealing with.

Tom reluctantly got out of the car, clutching his jacket around him as though he was freezing even though it was a rather mild, drizzling day. He was helped to the passenger side, where he leaned weakly against the seat, his breathing soft and shallow. He was definitely sick, but with what, Guillermo couldn’t be sure, but it was concerning how quickly it seemed to be progressing. Yesterday Tom was just seeming a little off maybe even just depressed or something, but today he looked like he almost ought to be in a hospital. “Just take the day off today, Tom, and we’ll see where we’re at tomorrow and how you’re feeling. There is plenty we can do without you, so please don’t worry about anything but feeling better. We all understand.” It wasn’t as though he wanted to make his cast and crew miserable, making them work when they were sick.

When Tom remained unresponsive, Guillermo took that as a hint and headed back to get a driver to take Tom back to the hotel. Thankfully it was close enough that Tom barely noticed the time pass, dozing every so often and hardly coming to but the driver woke him when they arrived back at the hotel and helped him up to his room, where he promptly fell into bed and fell straight asleep. His body was growing weaker and by the next day, he would likely be somewhat recovered with all the sleep he hoped to get, but until then, he lay wrapped in about a half dozen blankets, waking only a couple times throughout the day and night to call room service for a little something to eat or if someone called to check on him. Otherwise, he remained heavily in a dreamless sleep until his alarm went off the next morning, and even that barely woke him, but the ringing of his mobile did the job well enough.

“Hello,” he answered groggily, rubbing his eyes with one hand and holding the phone to his ear with the other.

“Tom, how are you feeling,” Guillermo’s voice was warm as usual on the other end of the line and he seemed cheerful enough for someone who’d probably just woken up - at four in the morning, no less. “I was just calling to make sure you were feeling alright, but if you’d rather take another day to rest, I understand.

The actor sat up quickly, his curly hair resembling a bird’s nest atop his head. “Oh, I… I haven’t been awake for very long, but I think I feel okay. I slept all day yesterday, so I think that helped a lot; I'm feeling much better.”

There was a slight pause before the director responded, but he gave a little hum before saying, “Good, I’m glad; do you think I could stop by in a half hour to check up on you and see if you’re up for filming today?”

“Oh, um… that sounds great. Just knock when you get here and I’ll open the door for you.”

“I’ll see you then, Tom. Take care.”

“Take care,” Tom responded feebly before ending the call and flopping back against his pillows. Was he going insane hallucinating the Sharpes or something? He certainly felt crazy. Yesterday he felt absolutely terrible and today, it was as though nothing was ever wrong and he just had a bit of a hangover.

Today would be a long day regardless of what he ended up doing. Somehow he just had that feeling.


	6. Chapter Five: Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guillermo questions Tom and the ghosts become restless - Lucille decides on a body she wants and pays her a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for keeping anyone who reads this waiting, but I had a surgery about a month ago and I'm finally recovered, so things have been very hectic around here, so I'm just posting a teaser of what's to come for this chapter, this is by no means the whole thing! I'll probably post it within a day or two, but hopefully you've enjoyed the story thus far - I've done a lot of editing today to make what I've already got written better (nothing changed in the plot, so you don't have to do any rereading if you don't want to) <3 Any feedback is always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

The door chain hung loosely at the side of the door when Tom opened it, “Guillermo,” he greets cheerily, “it’s good to see you. Please, come on in.”

“I brought breakfast,” the director replied cheerily, holding up a tray of covered plates, “So if you’d like, we can talk over breakfast?”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have, thank you - of course! Does anything need to be heated up?”

Guillermo shook his head, “No, I just ordered it from room service - they were kind enough to have someone work the kitchen this morning so that we could get a good breakfast before we go off to filming. It should all still be warm,” he added as he shuffled inside to the small table to set down the food.

\--- (More to come, I promise! I figured I'd post a little teaser since I haven't updated in so long.) ---


	7. Note to anyone following the fic!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A note about the fic to anyone who follows it and wants to read it!

So due to lack of ideas for where this fic is going, I've decided to rework it. I've already begun rewriting what I currently have written, so until I get caught up (and maybe until I finish the other version), I'm going to leave this up. I'm so sorry for having written so much. I've been stuck at a wall since I last updated and I just haven't been able to decide where this wants to go, but I hope the new version that I've started working on will be better! I actually have an endgame in mind and I know exactly where it's going to go. I've almost finished writing the first two chapters. If anyone is interested in beta-reading, please let me know - you can comment here or message me on my tumblr, which is at sharpexthomas.tumblr.com! Again, I'm sorry to have stopped so abruptly, but that was a wall that was evidently not going to get bypassed.


End file.
